


Dreamwalker

by colourfulpeaches



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Depression, F/M, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Not Beta Read, Quentin is not okay, Self-Hatred, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24853357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colourfulpeaches/pseuds/colourfulpeaches
Summary: Quentin finds comfort after a terrible nightmare, and he thinks maybe he can finally find some peace.
Relationships: Quentin Smith & Laurie Strode, Quentin Smith/Laurie Strode, Quentin Smith/Nancy Holbrook
Comments: 3
Kudos: 37





	Dreamwalker

Quentin looked up at the entrance of the school, hands trembling in ice cold fear as memories filtered into his mind. Memories that he had tried to repress for so long, a stupid teenage boy who hadn’t known any better, who wishes he could go back to the time when he didn’t know. He would have liked it that way. Every ounce of happiness that he had ever had in his life was taken away, the moment when he had found out what had really happened at the preschool and all the little kids that were his age. 

Sometimes he felt anger. Anger that his parents had kept it from him. Anger that someone so horrible and so twisted was still allowed to exist in this realm, taunting and torturing him whenever he pleaded. 

Other times he would cry, lay curled up in a ball next to a tall tree in the dirt and just sob like there is no tomorrow. He wishes there wasn’t. 

He isn’t sure if he would be alive if he had stayed in the real world, with Nancy, all their friends perished at the hands of Krueger and the man still looking for his revenge. Quentin had some to the conclusion that he would never escape his past, and he would certainly never escape Freddy Krueger. He was destined to live in this hell, fighting for his life every single day, and occasionally having to listen to the taunts that the scarred man would throw at him before slashing him with his claws. 

He thinks back to when he had been pulled into the fog, how unforgettably angry he had been at Krueger. How he had wished he had been the man to light the man ablaze underneath the school, where he had taken many little children who did nothing wrong, had robbed them of the childhood they were meant to have. When Nancy has slit his throat, all he could remember thinking is  _ why couldn’t I have done that.  _

Sometimes, he was ashamed, ashamed of the shell of a person he had turned into.

Most days he just didn’t care. 

He stepped through the large entrance, looking at the walls of what used to be his preschool. It was no longer the happy place where kids laughed and played with each other, it hadn’t been that place in a really long time. Now it was just a place where survivors went to die, chased through the halls by murderous killers with enough bloodlust to consume a whole city. Meat hooks scattered throughout the halls, convenient places for the many killers that traversed through the school, pallets and loops placed for the survivors in any attempt to get away. 

Quentin never got away if it was Freddy. 

_ You can never get away from me.  _

The voice rang through his head like an alarm, blaring at him, so loud that he couldn’t ignore it even if he tried. Memories penetrated him as he looked around, watching as the walls melted from its usual dark and grime to what it had looked like many years ago, before everything had happened. The place he had loved to be when he was kid. 

He remembers his mother telling him that they were worried that he wouldn’t want to go, that he would cry and hug their leg and beg them not go— but he had run from them the moment he had seen other kids his age, and from that moment on he loved preschool. Quentin was only at the low age of four, so many things he didn’t remember, but no matter how hard he tried to forget, he would always remember Freddy. 

Freddy made sure of it. 

The repressed memories had been buried deep for more than a decade, unaware that they were even there, until the day that Freddy decided to come into their lives. His and Nancy’s. He remembered the way Freddy would play with them, the way he would cover his eyes and count out loud as they all scattered to find somewhere to hide, always thinking that their spots were great. He remembered how the gardener would help him colour, trying to show him how to stay inside the lines, even though Quentin could never do it. 

_ I was always nice to you kids.  _

He remembered the cave. He remembered the scratches down his back, all the pain he felt, he remembered his mother holding him while he cried, all of it. 

Quentin would always remember. 

He walked without purpose, turning corner after corner and eventually ending back up where he had started. It wasn’t until he rounded a corner, and crashed into someone who had been standing at the corner of the wall. The brunette stumbled, almost falling on his ass, but he managed to catch himself at the last second.

He looked up. 

Dark brown hair that fell down her shoulders, curling inwards at the bottom because she had straightened it recently. A slim body fitted into a lacy white shirt with a light brown cardigan thrown over it, and a pair of dark jeans to match. Her emerald eyes seemed to pierce into him, and he felt like he was going to stop breathing just by looking at her. She looked the exact same as the last time he saw her, her beautiful eyes slightly sunken in and dark from her lack of sleep and her hair a mess. 

“Nancy?” He felt like he might cry, feeling the wetness start to build up underneath his eyes and threaten to break out. 

She smiled, her teeth showing, “Quentin.” She held her arms open for him. 

The teenager practically fell into her arms, wrapping his own around her upper half and burying his face into her neck. Despite everything, she smelled so… clean. Fresh. He had missed it so much, he missed the clean air and he missed the sun. 

His eyes were wet, seeping into the shoulder of her cardigan. “I missed you so much.” He doesn’t think one day had gone by that he hadn’t thought about her, thought about the time they never got. The time that they had deserved. Quentin never got to take her out on that date that he had promised her, before they had gone to try and end it with Krueger. 

“You didn’t think I would just leave you alone, did you?” Her hands slid up to his hair, brushing through his curls and tugging at the knots that had formed there. When was the last time he had brushed his hair? Quentin didn’t dare move away from her, worried that if he would let her go that she would just slip away. That she would slip just far enough from him that he wouldn’t be able to grasp her again, and she would leave, and he would be alone again. Now that he has her, he’s not sure if he can survive without her. 

Quentin struggled more than the other survivors, he knew he did, and so did the others. It wasn’t a secret. He managed well in trials, pushing through as best he could, but without them he was an empty shell that sat by a campfire and stared into the flames. He knew how bad he looked, bags so dark under his eyes that they appeared sunken, eyes red. Many of the others slept peacefully, taking advantage of their time, but not him. 

When he had first arrived, he’d borrowed a length of rope from a fellow survivor, he can’t remember who— he’d been working on autopilot. Nothing had felt real, it felt as if it was just another one of Krueger’s tricks, to keep him in hell but think that just maybe Quentin had escaped him finally. Now, he knew that it was a lie, but he had come to terms that he would never truly escape Krueger. Even if he was gone, the scarred man would follow him forever, always in the corner of his mind, he could not repress these memories. 

He didn’t have the rope for long, having walked far into the forest before he realized he’d been followed. They took the rope back. 

Quentin realized Nancy was humming, her soft tone almost too quiet that if he was any farther away he wouldn’t have heard it at all. Something about the sound struck a chord inside him, a feeling bubbling in his chest, and he pulled back from her, looking into her eyes. 

She still had that smile on her face, but her eyes looked empty. 

“What is that?” He asked, “What are you humming?” 

_ One, two, Freddy’s coming for you. _

Quentin took a step away from her, realizing that it was no longer the humming that he was hearing. It was the voices. The voices of the children. The children that had fallen into the hands of abuse, who didn’t know any better, whose lives were ended for something they had no control over. 

_ Three, four, better lock your door. _

“Stop! Stop it!” He begged Nancy, feeling his shoulders beginning to shake. 

Nancy stepped forward, her hand reaching up to cup his cheek, tilting her head to the side slightly. “You could have been my favourite, Quentin.” She spoke softly, thumb rubbing over his cheek lovingly. 

It felt as if someone had poured ice water over his entire body, but he felt stuck in his spot, his brain screamed for him to move but it felt like someone had glued his feet to the ground. He was frozen in place. 

_ Five, six, grab your crucifix. _

The children grew louder in his ears. 

“But you had to tattle, didn’t you?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, “We could have had so much fun.” 

_ Seven, eight, better stay up late. _

He trembled in terror, tears slipping down his cheeks, but Nancy still gave him that little smile, it was so real, it felt so real to him. He wished so badly that it was real, he wished to hold her and touch her the way he had always wanted to. “Please.” The teenager begged, staring into the others face, wondering how something so evil could look so beautiful. Could look exactly like her, sound exactly like her. Why had he ever thought that he could be happy again? 

Nancy let out a choked noise all of a sudden, her hand slipping from his cheek. Blood poured out of her mouth, some landing on Quentin as she spit it up— and Nancy reached up to try and cover her mouth, blood sprouting from between her fingers and landing on the ground in splotches. 

“Nancy?” He reached out to her, to grab her, concern flooding him. Quentin should know that it was a ploy, should know to not believe the thing that wore Nancy’s face. 

He got his arms around her and she collapsed to her knees, Quentin following soon after her, as she continued to cough and hack. She began to look pale, as if the life was draining out of her, her mouth and chin covered in bright red blood. Her white shirt was stained, sticking to her skin. She slumped over, lifeless, into his arms, not even able to get a word out. 

Quentin pushed her hair out of her face, staring down at her face, hand trembling as he brushed a hand over her cheek. “I love you.” He whispered, squeezing his eyes shut as more tears fell, unable to hold them back. 

“I love you too.” 

He opened his eyes as fast as he had shut them, but instead of the body of Nancy in his arms, it was a scarred and disfigured face staring back at him, razor sharp teeth gleaming in the light. 

He screamed, the sound unnatural to his throat as it ripped from him, scrambling back. 

No. No.  _ No.  _

“Where are you going?” The raspy voice of Krueger spoke up in a drawl, standing to his full height, to tower over Quentin, who was struck frozen on the ground. “We haven’t had any fun yet.” Razor sharp claws raised in the air, before coming down on Quentin’s chest. He screamed again. 

_ Nine, ten, never sleep again.  _

  
  
  
  
  


He jolted, gasping for air and grabbing at his chest in a panic, looking for the wounds that were never there. The curly haired survivor dry heaved in his spot, feeling like he was going to vomit, but he knew that nothing would come up. He felt at his face, feeling the wetness, roughly scrubbing at his face to try and rid himself of the tears. 

Quentin looked around, realizing he was still in the same place he had previously fallen asleep. The infinite campfire burned a couple feet beside him, radiating enough warmth that he had removed his jacket to lay on while he slept. A couple other survivors were scattered about, fast asleep and some of them even snoring softly. He’s not sure where the rest of them were, but most of them had someone they could buddy up with and find somewhere else to spend time. The campfire would become too crowded if everyone huddled up here. 

It was a couple minutes before he realized someone was watching him with careful eyes, and somehow he had missed the blonde haired girl who was sitting up against a log by the campfire, hands folded neatly in her lap. 

It was the Strode girl. 

He had talked to her a couple times, quickly realizing that they both had things in common. They were teenagers who had to face something terrible, something supernatural, that couldn’t be killed. Myers and Krueger were like rotten apples from the same tree, but while one was an emotionless killing machine, the other had a much more twisted way of things. 

Quentin never told her about the things that Krueger did to him and his friends when they were children. He was embarrassed. 

“Are you okay?” She spoke up, after she had realized he noticed her watching him. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. How was one supposed to answer that? Especially when he was not okay, he was never okay. He had not been okay for a very long time, even before he came to this hell hole, and he doesn’t believe he’ll ever be okay. Even if he managed to survive and get out of here, he doesn’t believe the real world would be any better. And Nancy. Maybe he could find peace in knowing that if Freddy was really in here with him, then he wasn’t out there with Nancy and he couldn’t mess with her or anyone else ever again. Maybe he could live with that, believing that Nancy was  _ really _ okay. She would take her time to heal and recover, she’d get the therapy that she needs. She would finish school and go off to some fancy university and she would put herself out there, and she would make friends, and eventually Quentin would just be another memory. Maybe it was the way that it had to be, and besides, he would've given his life to save Nancy’s, he’d even tried to before he got pulled into the fog. He would’ve done it again. So, if this was the price to pay, he could find comfort in that. 

He realizes that he never answered Laurie, and she’s still looking at him. She doesn’t look annoyed at his lack of response, or irritated.

“You were saying someone’s name.” Laurie remarked, “Nancy.”

Quentin grabbed at his hair, tugging on it more harshly than he probably needed to, trying to rid himself of the fuzziness in his head. “Am I awake?” He asks her, even though he’s not sure he could ever convince himself he was. He’d been tricked before, having thought he was really awake when he actually wasn’t. Krueger seemed to take great pleasure in messing with him.

Laurie seems to take the question with ease, eyebrows lifting slightly, “I believe so.” 

He wondered if at any moment Laurie would sprout some knives for fingers, or her blue button up morphing into a familiar red and green sweater. 

He stared at her. 

Nothing happened. 

Who was he kidding, if he really was dreaming, Krueger wouldn’t expose it when he was expecting it. It would be when he was vulnerable, broken down and soft. When the killer had worked his way inside his mind and made him feel almost comfortable, using what he knew about him to manipulate him. Like Nancy. He thinks every time he’ll fall for it, because every time he wishes for it to be real— no matter how much the rational part of his brain screamed at him to stop being so stupid. 

“Quentin?” Nancy inquires. 

He blinked, eyes snapping to the voice, finding no comfort in the fact it was still the blonde girl sitting there. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. The complete opposite of the other girl he was thinking of, the one who plagued his mind. He pressed a hand over his eyes, squeezing them shut tightly. 

_ You’re awake, _ he tells himself,  _ get yourself together.  _

Except he can’t. He really can’t. 

The tired survivor hears his name again, realizing he had once again just been staring at Laurie, trying to focus on the fact that it actually was the Strode girl, eyes falling over the others form. In hindsight, he probably in any other circumstance seemed like some sort of creep, but from his point of view Laurie didn’t seem to mind too much. Maybe it’s because she understood a little of what he had gone through. He nods at the other, showing that he had heard her speaking to him. 

She beckons him over with one hand, “C’mere. Lay down.” Laurie pats her lap. 

Quentin doesn’t even think twice about crawling over to her, abandoning his jacket on the dirt covered ground. He doesn’t have to move any over sleeping survivors, because Laurie was only a short few feet away from him, and he’s glad. He’s not sure if he could handle it if any of the other survivors woke up, wondering what the hell they were doing up, or any sort of conversation. He wasn’t really friends with any of them, but that was mostly his own fault as he sheltered himself away from most people. Some days he had trouble distinguishing when he was asleep and when he was awake, and he’s not even sure if that was Krueger’s doing. 

He allows himself to get situated, his head resting on her lap and his legs stretched out on the ground in front of him. He stares up at the night sky, the twinkling of the stars and the full moon that forever stayed high in the sky. Locks of blonde hair invaded his vision, but he didn’t mind, finding it oddly comforting. 

One of Laurie’s hands brushes against his hair, running her thin fingers through the brunette hair, through the knots. They were still there. 

“My mom used to do this when I had a nightmare.” The female survivor softly explained, her arm that wasn’t occupied with Quentin’s hair resting on top of the others chest. “She would hold me until I fell asleep. Until I forgot about the boogeyman.” He’s not sure that would work for him, he wasn’t some little kid you could comfort with words and make them believe that there were no monsters hiding in their closet. Nothing could protect him from the horrors of his own mind, but nonetheless, he found the touch comforting. 

Quentin briefly hears her ask if he wants to talk about it, and he’s not sure he would even know where to start. Or if he wanted to at all. He hadn’t told her much, only about the man who could kill you in your dreams and how he had tortured him and all his friends. Killed them. What was the point of explaining it at all? It wouldn’t do anything to help anyone, and he doesn’t think it will help him feel any better either. He tilts his head back a little, dark hair invading the corner of his eyes and even tickling at his nose from the length of it. He’s staring again. This time, she seems to stare back. “Nancy.” He says, voice cracking pathetically. 

That’s what he was. Pathetic. Quentin knows that everyone else thinks so as well, all the other survivors, they probably only saw him as a burden. Broken. Barely able to pull themselves together enough to do a trial. He doesn’t get pulled into trials as often as the others, he’s not sure why, but while some of them get pulled in around four times in a span of twenty four hours, Quentin might not even get one in that time. He should be glad. But maybe he would prefer to be in a trial, keeping his mind more occupied than just laying by a tree and staring off into the distance as his mind replayed every terrible thing that he’s had happened to him or the terrible things that he has seen. 

“Whose Nancy?” The tickle on his nose is gone, a forgotten feeling, the blonde survivor speaking to him as she tilted her head back and looked up at the sky. Her fingers were still stroking through his hair, playing with it in a comforting way, probably the same way her mom used to do to her when she would lay on her lap, drifting off into sleep peacefully. 

Quentin closes his eyes, feeling as if he could actually drift off to sleep right now. Maybe the comforting thing did work. “I don’t know.” He mumbles, almost sleepily. 

The hand on his chest moved to cradle his cheek, and he heard Laurie let out a soft sigh. He briefly wondered if this was a good position for the blonde girl to be in, sitting upright and having to cradle Quentin like he was some child. At this point though, he finds himself almost too tired to care, the exhausting nightmare he had experienced not that long ago having tired him out even though he had been technically sleeping. Could he actually manage to get a good night's rest? He tries to not get his hopes up, having had them crushed too many times before. 

“Sleep, Quentin.” Laurie strokes his cheek, “I’ll be here when you wake up.” The idea of having someone watch over him while he sleeps is comforting, while many people would hate the idea of someone doing such things while they slept— he couldn’t ask for anything else. Nancy was no longer around to wake him up, and he certainly didn’t have any of the medications he had back in the real world. 

“I promise.” The smaller survivor added on, just as Quentin slipped into the dream world. 

_ I’ll never leave you.  _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Wow, someone please tell me to stop with my Dead by Daylight ideas !! This is my second one I’ve started/finished writing and I have a couple more, I don’t think I’ve written this much in years haha


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